"Then bring it, little man!" Flames burn in Broding's eyes, and the ebony giant stands firm. A gash in his side from the Bloodseeker's blade. Both hands sliced and bruised. An arrow in the shoulder from the barrage. Blood runs down his face from the wound in his forehead, and it pools on the floor beside him. Broding feels no pain, and despite the wounds covering him he simply keeps moving. Stepping forward, his fist shoots forward, and Broding knows that this blow would end the man's fight. He would die a warrior's death, defeated by the black giant who was now steadily turning crimson. It would take more than just this much to take down Gutra, and Broding could almost already feel the spine shattering beneath his fist.

Searing pain, and the taste of blood.

The blow had missed, and Broding realized his vision had blurred. The man was inside his reach, and from the new source of pain, Broding knew the axe had hit him in the shin. Struggling not to fall down, Broding struck out again, putting his full force behind the blow. Once more, the blow should have blown the man's head off. Broding held the experience and skill of a hundred warriors, he was a master. And yet, as the crimson knuckles merely grazed his opponent, Broding recognized the fire in the man's eyes. It is said that the eyes are the windows of the soul, and Broding could see the flames of determination, even as, once more, the axe struck deep into his flesh. A strength not entirely of this world guided the blade of the axe through bunched muscle and inhuman endurance. Each step seemed to shake the world, and Gutra knew this was not a battle of skill, not a battle of worth. It was a battle of spirit.

Making use of his opponent's pure offense, Broding launched Lord Polvark backwards, a single swing nearly crushing his skull. The power of the blow would have knocked most men unconscious, from either the pain or the concussion. However, as Broding had thought, Polvark stood up once again, and Broding still stood tall. He grinned, and this time it was not the smile of a predator. He could feel it, the tension in the air, as he realized that, in this battle, Amun favored them both equally. "Little man, you fight well. Put your spirit behind each blow, little man, and we shall see who is left standing!" Laughing, the massive hulk of muscle crashed forward. Blood loss, pain and muscle damage had left him unsteady on his feet, but he remained standing as he swung his fist forward. If he got in one more good blow, this fight would be at an end.